


Darts

by Salchat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-11-22 17:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20877983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salchat/pseuds/Salchat
Summary: John and Rodney make paper darts.  They shouldn't be able to get into trouble... but they do.  Cue an adventure in the lower reaches of the City of Atlantis!





	1. Bored

Colonel John Sheppard leant idly against the railing overlooking the gateroom, head in hands, lazily surveying the scene below. Occasionally an amused smirk would climb the side of his face or a soft chuckle would escape his lips, as if he were watching an entertaining movie. The gateroom was in chaos. Well, it looked like chaos to the untrained observer; crates, packages, sacks overflowed the platform and surrounding area, people in a wide variety of dress moved amongst the usual marines and Atlantis residents. There was even some livestock down there - crates of things that looked like they might become chickens with some good luck and a following wind. And in the centre of it all, the conductor on his rostrum, Major Evan Lorne. Major Lorne, who had fully understood what it meant when the harvest seasons of four planets with which Atlantis had made trade agreements for food had coincided, and had stepped forward to organise the whole thing. He had also co-opted Teyla to gate from world to world, to liaise with the communities, which were mostly old trading partners of the Athosians. Ronon had also gone along because he enjoyed the simple work of lifting 'heavy stuff'.

Deliveries had begun coming through the gate at first light and were scheduled to continue for at least two days. Major Lorne was in his element, directing marines, kitchen staff, biologists and off-world inhabitants alike with consummate ease. At the moment, however, he was dealing with a slight glitch; there had been a shortfall of a certain rootcrop and somebody was trying to make up the difference with the Pegasus chicken things. Livestock had not been part of the deal. Sheppard watched Lorne's placating gestures and the off-worlder's wildly gesticulating hands. He couldn't hear what they were saying but hoped Lorne was explaining they didn't have facilities for animals on Atlantis and could something else be substituted? Then up marched Master Sergeant Marie Sanchez, who had the responsibility for making sure nobody on Atlantis went hungry, and with a series of savage chopping, slicing and breaking motions that made Sheppard wince, proceeded to explain, with the ruthless pragmatism of an officer in charge of feeding a considerable population, why Pegasus chickens would be quite acceptable, thank you very much. Sheppard wondered whether he should have Sanchez cleared for field missions; she looked like she'd be very effective in hand-to-hand combat. He didn't envy the chickens and suspected they had a date with the freezer.

"How's it going?"

Sheppard turned. Colonel Samantha Carter stood beside him.

"Good, I think," he replied.

"Are those chickens?" she asked, looking over the railing.

"Kind of," he responded. "Lorne's handling it."

"Bored?" she enquired. "You know this needs doing before we use the gate for off-world missions."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "Just not used to having downtime."

"Well, make the most of it," Sam said, heading back to her office. "I've got paperwork to do!"

John stood up straight, the harvest home no longer holding his attention. Time to go and pester McKay. He would swing by the mess hall first, grab something tempting and lure McKay away from his research or reconfiguring or diagnostics or whatever.

*********************************

Sheppard, entering McKay's lab bearing a tray stacked with sandwiches and desserts, was met with a resounding and strident "No!", rapidly followed by "Not now! Crucial moment! No, no, no, go away, now!"  
Rodney, at the centre of a complex arrangement of monitors, handheld devices and unidentifiable equipment could barely be seen, but the waving hands and urgent barks were message enough.

Sheppard slammed the tray down on a nearby work surface, did a sharp about face and marched out. There was only one place left to go. The armoury.

**********************************

During his basic training, a very young John Sheppard had had a drill sergeant who, in no uncertain terms, had impressed upon his recruits the importance of weapons maintenance. The over-riding message of "Check, check and check again and if you've not got anything better to do (or even if you have), check again" had sunk in to such an extent that John could strip, clean, lube and reassemble his P90 purely using the muscle memory in his hands and arms, his conscious mind taking very little part in the proceedings. He had once read a book called 'Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance', which had turned out to have little to do with either Zen Buddhism or motorcycles. John, sitting on a bench in the armoury, cleaning his P90, was a fair representation of 'Zen and the art of P90 maintenance'. Teyla would have recognised the meditative calm that surrounded him. He had stripped and reassembled the weapon four times and was about to embark on the fifth, his mind calm and clear, when from behind him came a subdued: "Sorry."

Rodney stood, sheepishly, in the doorway, tray of food, somewhat depleted, in his hands.

"Um..." he floundered. "I, erm, thought I was on the verge of a breakthrough and I... um... wasn't?" He paused, then continued, in a rush, "then I thought I was rude, erm, obnoxious and generally offensive, so... sorry."

John looked up. "OK," he said simply.

"OK, then," Rodney brightened. "Sandwich?"


	2. The Idea

They headed back to McKay's lab, Rodney to disentangle and put away his nest of equipment, John to sit waiting, finishing off a Pegasus-apple.

"So, what do you want to do?" asked Rodney.

"I dunno. Is it still hot out there? We could go swimming off one of the piers?" suggested Sheppard.

"Still hot? Are you kidding?" spluttered McKay. "Why do you think all the balcony doors are shut? Atlantis' air conditioning wouldn't be able to cope with the heat this planet's throwing at us!"

"Hey, d'you ever get yelled at as a kid for doing that?" asked Sheppard. "In the car when you just wanted the window down to feel the wind?"

"I got yelled at for everything as a kid," replied Rodney, drily. "Although, unusually, not for that. I was well aware of the functioning parameters of the air conditioning before I was five years old."

John took a last bite of his apple, crunching juicily. He looked at the core, debated whether to throw it at McKay, dropped it instead into the wastebasket.

"Hey, what's this?" he asked.

"If it's any kind of device whatsoever," said Rodney irritably, not looking up, "It's referred to as an 'LIA', that is a 'Leave It Alone' device."

"No, this stack of paper."

"Oh, that, that's just a load of tech specs, technical specifications, from that planet... P2Z-9M3 or something," Rodney replied in his rapid-fire manner. "Don't think they've discovered the paperless office yet. One of my minions scanned it in; that can be recycled, except we don't have recycling facilities... why?" 

"Oh, nothing..." John took a sheet of paper off the stack, waved it speculatively, placed it on the workbench and with a few deft folds, fashioned it into a paper dart. His eyes flicked up to look at McKay, then back to the dart. An apple he could resist... a dart? A quick flick of his wrist sent it gliding in one swift swoop. It hit Rodney in the back of the neck.

"What the?!" Rodney turned, grasping his neck, saw the dart lying in the floor. "Colonel Sheppard!"

"Sorry," John smirked.

"No, you're not!" spluttered Rodney, "and anyway," he said, picking up the dart,"that's not even how you do it."

"It hit you, didn't it? Don't know what they make this paper out of, but it makes great darts!" said John, sending another dart towards Rodney, this one with one wing bent up and one down so that it spiralled through the air. Rodney caught the spiralling dart and held both up, eyeing them critically.

"That's what I'd refer to as 'fast and dirty' design," he commented, with an air of superiority. "No finesse!"

"Finesse this!" responded Sheppard, thrusting another dart in Rodney's direction, this one banking a sharp left, spiralling in to evade his grasp and ending it's flight path by impacting with his chest. "Sometimes flying experience and gut instinct get the best results!"

"Well, why don't we see about that?" said Rodney, snatching a sheet of paper and beginning, with patient precision to craft his own dart.

By the time he was finished, the lab was littered with John's darts, which had varied in their shape and trajectory, but had all completed, more or less, their planned missions.

McKay held up his creation. "The McKay Mark I," he announced.

"Oh, great name," Sheppard snarked. "The Todd Mark..." he looked around at the floor, quickly counting, "Mark 9."

"What, yours are wraith darts?" asked Rodney incredulously.

"Well," Sheppard drawled, "yeah! The wraith seem to know what they're doing, don't they?"

Rodney made a disgusted chuffing noise. He held up his dart as if to throw it, then surveyed the lab. "Corridor?" he suggested.

"Corridor," John agreed.

The maiden flights of the Todd 9 and the McKay 1 ended in a collision and a rather heated argument about who bore responsibility and led to a discussion about a more suitable venue for test flights.

"Top of the control tower!" was Rodney's idea.

"What the very top?" asked John doubtfully. "Have you been up there? Up the ladder above the jumper bay and out the hatch? There's no handrail out there McKay!"

Rodney, looking slightly green at the thought, reconsidered. "Well the balcony outside the gateroom, then."

"Oh, yeah, the one near a certain Colonel Carter's office. 'Cos that'd work," Sheppard drawled sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah, Sam," said Rodney, thoughtfully.

The problem, as both men knew, though neither cared to admit, would not be Sam's disapproval. No, the problem would be her enthusiasm. Her face would light up with its luminous smile, all her instincts as a seasoned pilot and genius astrophysicist sparking, and in the most older-sisterly way, she would not only take over, but would probably make the best dart and win their competition. This could not be allowed to happen. Shifty hazel eyes met guarded blue.

"Sam wouldn't approve," said Rodney quickly.

"Of course she wouldn't approve!" John agreed hastily.

"It would be beneath her dignity as CO of Atlantis," Rodney blurted in a rush.

"Absolutely!" John confirmed. "We'll need a diversion!"

"Diversions we can do!" Rodney stated positively.


	3. Logistics

Back in the lab, the venue having been decided, certain practicalities had to be considered.

"So, how do we tell who's won?" asked Sheppard.

"How do we confirm that I've won?" rephrased Rodney. "I have some ideas about that." He moved towards the whiteboard, picked up a marker and began to draw and lecture. "At first I thought I could place a microscopic particle of radioactive naquadah on the tip of each dart and configure a tracking device to monitor their positions, but the problem with that is that I'd need two different isotopes to distinguish between your inferior darts and my superior design and I don't have enough available at the moment, decay rates and so on, and then I'm not convinced I can refine the tracker's resolution enough to pick up microscopic samples at the distance my darts, at least, will travel."

John played along and tried to look scholarly. Rodney took a deep breath and continued.

"So then I thought instead of radioactive isotopes I could paint the tip of each dart with a sample of liquid naquadah, and when the dart makes an impact, there'd be a small explosion - I could definitely use the tracker to pinpoint that! And we could..."

"Hold it right there!" John stopped him with a raised hand. "You're talking about sending explosive darts down to the lower city?! Why not just invite the wraith here while you’re at it?"

"Oh, don't over-react," Rodney said dismissively, "When I say 'paint' I don't mean with a can and a roller, I mean a microscopic sample utilising my genius techniques and when I say 'explosion' I mean, like a micro-explosion, a little fizz, just enough to detect. Not your kind of C4-soldier-boy explosion."

"Oh, well, that's OK then," John said, pacified, "Just don't throw in the word 'explosion' like that."

It was agreed that each contestant would make three darts and they would send them alternately, using the tracker to mark their final landing site.

"Is this really going to work, McKay?" Sheppard wondered. "The air would have to be really still."

"You really haven't been out, today, have you?" Rodney said. "The ocean's like a millpond. The air's so still we'll probably be able to hear the music from the beach party the archaeology and linguistics geeks have going on down on the east pier."

"Beach party?" asked John, a hurt expression crossing his face. "Why wasn't I invited?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. He and the Colonel had actually been invited, but he'd been too excited about his project to pass the message on.

"Hello?" he said, covering his tracks, "Archaeology and linguistics geeks? All they'll be doing is arguing in ancient Hawaiian dialects about the cultural significance of... of leis or... luaus or something! Boring! This is much more fun!"

"Oh. OK then."

**********************************

There was a lull in the proceedings in the gateroom. From her office, Sam had heard the marines being dismissed until the next consignment gated in at thirteen hundred hours.

Sam looked up from her laptop and stretched. Maybe it was time for her to take a break. She could drop in on the archaeo-linguistics guys down on the east pier. They were having a proper Hawaiian luau, complete with grass skirts and some kind of spit-roast Pegasus-pig. It sounded like great fun!

An airman appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray loaded with salad and several pots of blue jell-o. Sam also just caught a glimpse of a couple of swiftly moving shapes flitting through the balcony door behind the control room, the door sliding closed behind them.

"Ma'am, Colonel Sheppard and Dr McKay thought you might like some lunch."

"Thank you, Airman Collins," said Sam, smiling.

The airman put down the tray and hurried off. Sam wasn't taken in. Not for a single microsecond. Having been a member of SG-1 for ten years had given her a well-honed instinct for mischief. She could always tell, even when the signals were subtle and this was anything but subtle. Sam could have catalogued the signs of SG-1 up to a prank as follows: with O'Neill, whether Colonel or General, the signal was just a very slight twitch of his thin lips. With Teal'c, obviously, one had to closely observe the precise angle of his right eyebrow in relation to the left. Daniel was transparent. His rare, but endearingly goofy grin would begin to spread irrepressibly across his face, whereupon he'd clap a hand over his mouth, make choking noises and then usually run away. Hopeless. Cam was given away by an unrealistically stony expression, Vala by an impossibly wide-eyed aura of innocence. 

Sam sighed. She hoped Sheppard and McKay weren't up to anything actually dangerous. She would turn a blind eye - they deserved to let off some steam. It was the exact nature of their chosen safety valve that worried her slightly. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she started on the blue jell-o. It would make a nice appetizer, and then she would indulge in some barbecue. And maybe a grass skirt.


	4. Flight

It was hot on the balcony. Hot, still and very bright. Sheppard took his aviators from where they were tucked in the top of his T-shirt and put them on. There was no cool sea breeze and the warm, briny scent of the ocean filled the air. Very faint and far away there was the sound of laughter and ukulele music.

It had taken a while to get McKay away from his lab. Sheppard had swiftly folded his darts and given them to Rodney to 'paint', but Rodney's design and construction process had taken much longer. He was very impressed with the qualities of the Pegasus-paper: "This stuff's great! It holds the sharpest creases, it's really strong, it'll be able to take much more thrust than ordinary paper, really smooth, so significantly less drag, lighter too so..." John zoned out, every so often registering the words 'drag', 'lift', 'gravity' and 'thrust' in various permutations, but when Rodney began to draw equations on the whiteboard and started muttering about "a small portable forcefield to minimise drag," he had called a halt. They had set off, carrying the darts in a crate, stopping by the mess hall to load a tray for their Carter-diversion and, plan successfully carried out, had arrived on the gateroom balcony.

John was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea and felt his time might be better spent crashing the archaeo-linguistic beach party. He would take along a few beers and get on board with the whole lei and grass skirt thing. That would guarantee him a welcome.

McKay was fiddling with his tracker display. He looked up. "Ready," he said. "Who's going first?"

"I'll do it," replied John easily.

He picked up his first dart from the crate: the Todd Mark Ten. He stood against the railing and looked out at the cityscape of Atlantis, his home. The view was misty with heat haze and the far towers and piers shimmered in the light. John took a step back. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, drawing the arm holding the dart back over his shoulder, the other arm before him, balancing his weight on his toes. He paused, feeling the stillness of the air, sensing the vastness of the void. It needed to be exactly right, too much force and the dart might waver and plummet, too little and it would soon falter. A little longer, sensing the air by instinct as a bird feels the wind beneath its wings; and then his arm came forward in one motion, powerful and true and he launched the dart out into the air. It flew; and John almost felt that he flew with it, out over the towers and spires of the city that he loved, cleaving through the torrid air like a sliver of ice. It flew onward and down toward the lower city further and further until it was out of sight.

John turned, hands in pockets, shrugged, his mouth quirking up at one corner.

"I'd call that successful!" he chirped.

Rodney's mouth drooped at one corner, his chin jerked up in defence.

"We'll see," he said, gesturing with his tracker. His eyes fell, studying the display. John looked over his shoulder. Rodney hunched his shoulder, trying to turn away. A small blip appeared in the screen.

"There!" said John excitedly. "What does that mean? How far'd it go?"

"All results will be collated at the end of the experiment!" said Rodney, tightly.

"Very far, then," said John, smugly. "And it's a competition, not an experiment."

"Humph," Rodney grumped. "My turn."

He picked up his first plane, stood exactly where John had stood, raised his arm and with all his strength, hurled the dart over the railing. The nose tipped up, rose several metres and then plummeted.

"Oh." Rodney began to bluster," Well, that, that was just a test, the next one's going to be the winner!"

John said nothing. He picked up his next dart, and launched it with the same infuriating mixture of absolute concentration and casual grace. Rodney had been studying John's technique with a sharp, scientific eye. His next launch was far more successful. It sailed off into the air. "A thing of beauty," thought Rodney and allowed himself a small fist-pump.

The two men studied the tracker screen again. John's two darts could be seen and Rodney's failure, close to the edge of the display, presumably in a depressing heap at the bottom of the tower. They waited. Out of the corner of his eye, John caught a small flash down in the lower city. Then there was a distant, but distinct: 'bang'.


	5. The Lower City

Both men rushed to the railing and stared down into the hazy distance of the lower city. A very small plume of smoke could be seen.

"That shouldn't have happened! Couldn't have happened!" spluttered Rodney.

"Well, it did," John said, quietly. "We need to get down there," he said, more decisively. "I think that's the area Stackhouse gave a once-over a couple of months ago. Nothing particularly interesting, power only intermittent."

"Well, there must be some power down there!" said Rodney. "The dart must have hit an exposed power cable or something!"

"We'll find out and we'll fix it," Sheppard said firmly. "Let's get what you'll need from your lab and then get kitted up."

"Oh, not tac vests on a day like this," complained Rodney. "It'll be like wearing our own personal ovens."

"SOP, McKay," said John. "We just don't know enough about what's down there."

***********************************

Sheppard stood, peering through his binoculars, trying to trace out a route through the towers and walkways of the lower city. The two men had transported as near to their destination as they could, bearing in mind the limited power in that area of the city. When they stepped out of the transporter they were surprised at the change in the weather. The sky was no longer a burnished blue-gold, but had changed to a threatening grey. The wind buffeted them as they made their way to a small lookout platform and they could see the ocean was beginning to rise into white peaks.

"Looks like a storm coming in," commented McKay.

"Yeah, party's over, I guess," said Sheppard, taking out his binoculars. He could see in the distance a small, squat tower from where the plume of smoke had come. There was a door at the base of the tower and a viewing platform about halfway up from where there was still a faint drift of smoke. Between the two points there was a narrow walkway, winding its way around various low buildings and areas where there was a short drop to the ocean.

"Let's go," said Sheppard, setting off down a flight of stairs and beginning to jog lightly along the walkway.

"Why do we have to run everywhere?" puffed McKay, beneath the weight of his pack, stuffed with equipment.

**********************************

Arriving at the base of the tower, they suffered a setback. The walkway led directly to the door, a railing either side and then a drop into the water, but there was obviously no way the door was going to open.

"Warped," said Sheppard.

"Badly," said Rodney, studying the opening closely. "Must have been one of the areas outside the shield failure when we first arrived."

John looked up. Fat raindrops began to fall onto his upturned face. "The balcony's not that high; I think we can climb that," he said. He looked at the railing at the edge of the walkway, then a shallow shelf a metre or so above that and then decorative mouldings covering the remaining few metres before the railing edging their target balcony. The top half of the wall began to curve gently inwards, making the tower pepper-pot-shaped.

"Climb?" squeaked Rodney. "I don't do climbing, Sheppard! And how would we climb that, anyway?"

"Well, I'd climb up to that shelf there and you'd climb up me and I could boost you up the rest of the way," said Sheppard. "Sound like a plan?"

"It sounds like a completely insane plan!" replied Rodney.

"Well, we need to get up there McKay, so that's what we're doing," he said, adjusting his P90 in its sling so that it fell across his back. John hopped up onto the top of the railing, then pulled himself up onto the narrow shelf. He leaned against the wall and gestured to Rodney.

"Come on, the first bit's easy."

"Easy? Huh!" Rodney grumbled. "And I've got this great big pack." 

It began to rain harder.

"Great. Now it'll be slippery too," Rodney muttered.

"Come on, McKay!" John said, impatiently.

Rodney carefully climbed each rung of the railings and then, both hands against the wall, gingerly stood on the broader top rail. He slowly straightened up, not feeling at all safe, and reached up for the shelf where John was standing.

"That's it, now get one foot up on the shelf and I'll give you a hand," encouraged John.

He reached down and grabbed the loop on the back of Rodney's tac vest and as Rodney heaved himself up, John pulled hard until Rodney was up on the shelf beside him.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he said.

Rodney, leaning into the wall as far as he could, grimaced weakly.

"Right, here's what we're going to do now," said John. "I'm going to give you a leg-up onto my shoulder and if you lean into the wall and reach for the railing up there, I'll give you a boost up, OK?"

"OK," whimpered Rodney.

"OK, then, here goes." John made a step with his hands and Rodney squirmed as close as he could and gingerly put his foot in John's hands. As he pushed down, John heaved his weight up. Rodney reached up with his foot for John's shoulder, trying to lean most of his weight into the sloping wall. He didn't quite make it. He just about got one foot on John's shoulder, then lost his balance, panicked and his foot slipped, tearing John's T-Shirt at the shoulder and scraping down his arm. Rodney fell and would have ended up in the water but John grabbed hold of his vest and forced him into the wall until he'd regained his balance.

"Sorry!" said Rodney, eyes closed.

"That's OK," said John. "Now let's take a few deep breaths and then we'll try again."

This time the plan was successful, if not particularly stylish and at the cost of some of John's hair where Rodney felt himself wobbling and grabbed hold of it. Rodney managed to stand on John's shoulders, leaning against the inward sloping wall and by reaching up as far as he could and receiving another boost from John's hands, Rodney got hold of the railings above himself and puffed, scrambled and heaved his way up and over the top. He leant back over the railings and looked down at John, still breathing heavily. John looked up and saw Rodney's face against the looming grey sky, his hair whipping in the increasing wind.

"Your turn!" called Rodney.


	6. Attack

John looked at the sloping wall above him, studying the swirling decorative patterns. They were curved in cross-section and stuck out about three-quarters of an inch. He could do it, but not in boots, and in default of climbing shoes, bare feet would have to do. John unlaced his right boot, took it off, then his sock and stuck the sock inside the boot. He drew back his arm and threw the boot up over the railing. There was a muffled thud, a squeak and Rodney's face appeared above him.

"Oh, thanks for the warning, Sheppard!" he said angrily.

"Sorry!" John called. "Incoming!" he yelled as he hurled the other boot skywards. Rodney quickly ducked out of the way.

John flexed his bare toes to test his grip, wiped his hands off on his t-shirt and began to climb. It wasn't the most testing climb of his life, but his fingers and toes were beginning to feel the strain and he was glad that he was nearly able to reach out for the railing above him, when suddenly there was a raucous screeching noise, the sound of rushing wind and flapping wings, something began to beat at his head and shoulders and he felt the stabbing of a large beak. Sheppard lost his grip, slithered helplessly down the side of the tower and was just able to stop himself on the ledge, with a bone-jarring impact through both feet. He held up one arm in an attempt to fend off whatever was attacking him and closed both eyes tightly, dreading the creature attacking his face. Then there were three loud reports, and a startled shrieking which faded into the distance as John's attacker flew away.

"Did you see that thing?!" yelled Rodney, waving his Beretta wildly 

_No, I was too busy trying to stop it pecking my eyes out_, John thought. He said: "Have you put the safety on, McKay?"

"Yes, I've put the safety on," he said indignantly, "And, you're welcome, by the way!"

"Thank you, Rodney," said John.

"Hey, are you OK?"

"Yeah, think so," replied John. He could feel a sharp pain in the back of his neck and blood was running down his right forearm from several deep beak-marks. His radio suddenly came to life.

"Control room to Colonel Sheppard."

"This is Colonel Sheppard," he replied.

"I'm detecting weapons fire in the lower city, sir."

"Uh, yeah, that's OK, Chuck," said John. "I'm down here with Dr McKay doing some...repairs."

"You need backup, sir?"

"No, we're good."

"OK, then."

John sighed and looked again at the climb above him. This was not how he'd imagined his day off, perched on a narrow ledge, on the way to being soaked to the skin, his blood mingling with the steady rainfall. He began to climb again and this time reached the top without incident.

**********************************

When he had first clambered onto the balcony, Rodney quickly saw the problem; something had torn off a light-fitting and had continued to tear away at the wall with a sharp implement, drawing out cables and insulation in order to construct the large nest that filled the whole back of the area. Rodney guessed that the sharp implement had been a beak and immediately decided that he definitely did not want to meet its owner. The nest was partially burnt and although there was no trace of the dart, it must have been the impact of the naquadah tip on a live cable that caused the explosion. It was at that moment that he heard the bird's raucous cries and rushed over to see John's fall and continuing attack by the giant yellow bird. He momentarily panicked, thought about throwing things at the it and then, fumbling for his Beretta, fired three shots into the air.

"What the hell was that thing?" John said as he finally climbed over the railing and slumped, exhausted, onto the floor of the balcony.

"Well, to me it looked a lot like Big Bird," said Rodney.

"Big bird?" repeated John.

"Big Bird from Sesame Street. Except less..." he paused, "Less aerodynamically challenged." He ripped open a pocket of his tac vest and took out the small first aid kit.

"Less inclined to teach you to count and more psychotic!" said John.

"Well, it's certainly made a mess up here," said McKay, gesturing to the nest of cables and beginning to clean the gash in the back of Sheppard's neck.

"Leave it, McKay, it's fine," squirmed John.

"Oh, yes, it's fine if having blood running down the back of your neck is fine!" ranted Rodney. "Just sit still and let me do this, Colonel Die-Hard-with-a-vengeance!" He stuck a band-aid on John's neck and transferred his attention to the wounds in John's forearm. "Some of these need stitches," he said. "You'll have to tell Keller about Big Bird."

"I can say it was some kind of Sea Eagle!" said John, defensively.

"Oh no," smirked Rodney, dabbing with an antiseptic wipe, "You don't get a manly opponent. Not with yellow fluffy feathers still stuck in your vest." He held one up as evidence and twirled it between finger and thumb.

"So, what do we do about that?" John jerked his head towards the nest.

"Nothing," Rodney replied succinctly. "I'll just make sure there's no power going to it and then send a team down to clear it up."

"And I'll send a protection team," added John, scanning the sky uneasily. "You'd better do a quick fix and we'll get out of here. I don't want any more visits from our friend."


	7. Flood

As Rodney worked on cutting the power to the light fixtures, Sheppard put his boots back on, got up and looked out over the stormy scene. The balcony was set into the tower, which afforded some slight protection, but still the noise of the by now roaring wind and towering waves was tremendous. The walkway below was flooded, water washing over its length with ever-increasing force. John looked in vain for an accessible route above the rising sea, holding his hands up to shield his face against the pelting rain. 

"That should do it!" Rodney shouted above the roar of the storm, packing away his tools.

"Will that open?" John gestured towards the door at the back of the platform.

"Yes, there should be some residual power," said Rodney, fiddling with the door controls. It slid open in a series of reluctant jerks.

With the door shut and locked behind them the relief from the clamour and buffeting of the storm was immediate. Sheppard switched on the light on his P90 and checked up and down the stairs.

"It looks like these go down a few storeys" he said.

"That'll be below sea level," said Rodney. "Is that safe?"

"We'll have a look," said John. "If it's flooded, we'll have to think of something else."

"Well, I think it's high time for something to eat," said Rodney, sitting on the floor and rummaging in his pack. "Mango tropical or salty peanut?"

"Oh, mango, thanks," said John, sitting down beside him. "So, you watched Sesame Street?" he asked, tearing the wrapper off his power bar.

"Jeannie liked it," said Rodney defensively. "She liked the Cookie Monster."

John smirked. "Did it remind her of someone?"

Rodney mumbled something through his power bar.

John grinned at him. "McKay?"

Rodney stopped eating. "OK, yes, she would call me the Cookie Monster, and chase me round trying to get me to say 'Me want cookie!' Happy now?"

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Say it. 'Me want cookie!'" said John, in a passable imitation of the Cookie Monster.

"I said it if she had a cookie," said Rodney, "Otherwise, what would have been the point?"

John laughed. "I bet you loved that game!"

"Maybe," Rodney admitted.

************************************

When the weather had begun to change the beach-party had relocated to the mess hall. Sam, who had been thoroughly enjoying herself, decided she'd better get back to her paperwork. She was in her office when sensors picked up weapons fire in the lower city and was not much reassured to hear that Sheppard and McKay were out carrying out 'repairs' and didn't require backup. Repairs meant that damage had been caused somewhere along the way.

Sam decided she would give it another hour then have her military commander and chief scientist called to the control tower.

**********************************

Sheppard and McKay had found a route that seemed to lead in the right direction but they were both uneasy about being below sea level in a damaged section of the city. It looked like the corridor had spent some time flooded completely before Atlantis had been raised to the surface when the expedition had first arrived. In the thin beam of light from John's P90 they could see that the walls were stained with salt and marked by barnacle-like creatures and in places had been warped by the high water-pressure. They could hear the waves crashing above them and there was the occasional ominous creak.  
McKay had slipped twice in the sandy, muddy, sludge which covered the floor and made walking treacherous. The second to time, Sheppard had flung out an arm in an attempt to save him with the result that they had both fallen and were now both covered virtually head-to-toe in mud.

"Keller is going to lock you away when she gets hold of you," said Rodney, complacently. "An alien bird with its alien beak that's been heaven knows where and now ancient sludge getting in those cuts. You're in for a night of IV antibiotics, for sure!"

John grunted, knowing it to be true, but said, "Let's just concentrate on getting back first."

There came yet another menacing groan of metal to underline his words and they both became aware that their footsteps were no longer squelching but splashing through shallow water. They looked behind them and could see a line of ripples in the water that was flooding the corridor, the level rising swiftly.

"Go!" said John, sharply, grabbing Rodney's arm and pulling him into a run.

They ran as fast as they could, slipping and skidding through the rapidly rising water until they heard a roaring, rushing sound behind them and suddenly their feet were swept from under them and they were hurtled along the corridor by a deluge of seawater. John had the presence of mind to grab hold of Rodney's tac vest and he clung tightly to it as they were swept along, choking and gasping, water going over their heads as they frantically kicked to try to stay on the surface. The beam of John's torch swung wildly from side to side so that they couldn't see what was coming, but they felt the corridor turn a sharp corner as they were slammed into a wall. Rodney hit the wall first and John felt him stop struggling and go limp. He tried to reach round and hold Rodney's head out of the water but could barely breathe himself, often swallowing great gulps of burning brine.

In the turmoil, John realised there was a shaft of light rapidly approaching. With a split second's thought he knew it was probably their only chance. He desperately tried to orient himself in the direction they were going, gave up trying to keep Rodney's head out of the water and reached out with his free arm to try to catch hold of anything that would stop their headlong flight. He saw the light came from a stairwell and kicked hard to try to get as close to it as he could. He could see the stair-railings approaching at frightened speed, reached out his arm, couldn't grasp with his hand, but managed to hook his elbow round an upright and felt an agonising wrench in his shoulder and elbow as he came to an abrupt halt and was forced round onto the stairs by the flow of the water. 

John struggled to get his feet under him while holding onto Rodney and anchoring them both with his other arm. His flailing feet eventually found purchase and he pushed down as hard as he could with rapidly waning strength, forcing himself and McKay out of the furiously rushing water. He grasped Rodney under his arms, dragged him up the stairs to a landing safely above the flow and set him down on his back. He put his hand on Rodney's chest and his face next to his mouth. He wasn't breathing. John tipped his head back, pinched his nose and began giving rescue breaths. After three breaths Rodney convulsed, choked and water gushed from his mouth. John turned him on his side, and patted him on his back as he lay, taking deep shuddering breaths and choking out more salt water.

"Hey, McKay!" 

Rodney didn't respond.

"McKay!" he said, louder, tapping Rodney's cheek.

Rodney's bloodshot eyes rolled up to meet his and he groaned a response.

John grinned back at him. "Guess who's joining me in the infirmary tonight?"


	8. Found

Sam's worry had increased as the storm had risen. She had given her missing men another hour and then tried to contact them both individually and through the city-wide comms. There had been no response. As Major Lorne was still busy organising the arrival of food supplies, Sam had ordered Sergeant Stackhouse to begin preparing his team for S and R. She had geared up herself, ready to go with them and was studying a plan of the city, noting the location where weapons fire had been detected and deciding where the search should begin.

Sergeant Stackhouse entered her office.

"Ready when you are, Ma'am," he said.

Sam straightened up, nodded at Stackhouse, and clipping on her P90 in a businesslike way, said, "OK, Sergeant, let's go and find them."

********************************

As Rodney lay shivering on the floor, still occasionally coughing, John checked him for injuries. He had an egg-shaped lump on the right side of his head and was bruised down the side of his face, but did not seem to have any broken bones. John felt bruised all over and his left elbow and shoulder joints were badly wrenched.

"Where's my pack?" said Rodney, slowly sitting up.

"Must have fallen off in the water," replied John. "Probably when we hit that wall. My radio's gone too."

Rodney felt for his earpiece, but found nothing.

"No calling the cavalry, then," he said tiredly.

"You OK?" asked John.

"Head hurts. Cold," replied Rodney.

"Let's get moving then, try to get warm," said John.

They got slowly to their feet, Rodney leaning against the wall as his head spun and John holding his left arm with his right. John tucked his arm into his tac vest as a makeshift sling so that he could help Rodney, who didn't seem to want to leave the support of the wall.

"Come on, McKay," encouraged John. "Time to go home."

They carefully made their way up the flight of stairs, Sheppard with his right arm around McKay's waist. At the top there was a door which opened smoothly, revealing a corridor   
John thought he recognised. 

"Ten minutes’ walk and we'll be at the transporter," he said.

Rodney gave a queasy half-smile.

"So," said John as they staggered along, "who won?"

"What?" said Rodney groggily.

"The darts, remember?"

"Oh, well, erm, let's say it was a draw," he mumbled.

"No way!" 

The contradiction seemed to revive Rodney's flagging spirits. "Well, yes, the first one of yours went the furthest, but I didn't get to throw all mine, did I?" 

"Well, we'll just have to try again then, won't we?"

"Judging by today's results I was thinking, maybe not," said Rodney.

"At least we weren't bored," John said thoughtfully.

Rodney stopped and looked at John. "You really prefer this kind of thing to a quiet day, don't you?" 

"Don't you?" returned Sheppard.

"Well, I don't prefer nearly drowning!"

"No," conceded John, "but apart from that, it was fun, wasn't it?"

"Maybe," said Rodney. "Some of it."

Sheppard grinned at him. They trudged on and around the next corner saw the transporter ahead of them. 

"At last!" said Rodney his eyes brightening suddenly. "I'm starving! I wonder what they're serving up tonight?"

"Maybe a shower first and some dry clothes?" suggested Sheppard.

"Not if there's chocolate pudding," said McKay decisively, quickening his pace. "For me SOP is chocolate pudding first, everything else second!"

**********************************

Sam, along with Sergeant Stackhouse and his team, were assembled in front of the transporter, ready to go when the doors opened and the Military Commander and Chief Science Officer of Atlantis were revealed. Sam took in their soaking wet, filthy and in John's case, torn uniforms, the bloodstained bandage on John's forearm and his other arm tucked inside his vest, the bruises down the side of Rodney's face and the slightly glazed look in his eyes. She also took in the way they were grinning foolishly at each other and their comically guilty looks when they realized they had an audience. She looked at them both as if daring them to speak.

"Infirmary. Now," she stated firmly. "I'll be down later to hear your reports." She turned to the S and R team. "Sergeant Stackhouse, you can stand your team down."

***********************************

Sam entered the infirmary to be greeted by Dr Jennifer Keller, a long-suffering expression on her face. Rodney and John, looking much cleaner and clad in the familiar white scrubs, were in beds next to each other in the far corner of the room. Sheppard sat cross-legged on his bed, the roll-away table in front of him, awkwardly eating with his newly stitched and bandaged arm, his left arm in a sling.  
Rodney had finished his tray of food and was looking at John's speculatively.

"Jennifer, how are the Colonel and Dr McKay?" asked Sam.

The doctor gave Sam a run-down of their injuries adding that she would be glad to release them from the infirmary in the morning.

"When they're together they behave like a pair of schoolboys!" she complained.

Over Keller's shoulder Sam could see Rodney attempting to distract John in order to steal his dessert and John snatching the dessert away and holding it up in the air out of Rodney's reach. 

Sam smiled, understandingly. "Thank you, Jennifer," she said.

Sam approached the two men, took a chair, set it between their beds and sat down.

"I'd like to hear exactly how you two chose to spend your downtime and how you got in this state," she said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

"Well, I was kind of bored..." Sheppard began.

"And there was there was this stack of tech specs..." McKay continued.

Sam was intrigued to hear about the properties of the paper they had used. A new material could have all kinds of practical applications and shouldn't have been missed. She would have to make sure there were protocols in place so that no unfamiliar technology or material went unstudied. When it came to the story of 'Big Bird', she laughed at Rodney's description, but looked concerned at John's account of its aggression. 

"I wonder why we haven't seen any birds like that before," she said. "They could be dangerous for personnel working outside on the piers."

"Probby mgtry," Rodney said in a muffled voice. He had aimed a dejected expression at John's chocolate dessert and been rewarded.

"Migratory," he explained more clearly. "They probably haven't been around for us to see up til now." He waggled his spoon thoughtfully. "They must lay big eggs... I'm thinking omelettes!" His eyes lit up greedily.

"And just what do you think Big Bird would have to say about that, McKay?" John drawled.

"Oh, well..." Rodney's face fell. "A sniper, from a distance?" he suggested.

"Moving on!" said Sam. "The lower levels flooded?"

McKay and Sheppard described their eventful return journey and Sam looked troubled.

"I'd like to see what can be done to protect the lower levels from flooding," she said. "When the storm's over I'll send some engineering teams down."

Dr Keller intervened at that point saying it was time for her charges to get some rest. Sam left and the two men lay down and pulled up the blankets.

"I think we got away with that quite well!" said John.

"Huh, yes," Rodney replied. " Must have been that puppy dog expression you do when you know you're in trouble. Sam is such a sucker for that."

John snorted. "I do not! What expression? Anyway, how about that tragic 'poor little half-drowned kitten' thing you were doing? That must have taken some practice in a mirror!"

Rodney sat up, outraged, but lay down again, quelled when Dr Keller put her head out of her office and shot a repressive glare in their direction. There was a brief silence.

"So!" John began. "What shall we do tomorrow?"

Rodney, who was thinking of spending the majority of the following day in the mess hall, said nothing.

"McKay? Tomorrow?" persisted John.

There came an unconvincing, but very determined snore.

"Goodnight McKay," said John.


End file.
